Beast
by KayFay
Summary: Shepard is back after spending two years dead, but not everyone is overjoyed by this development. Teen for a wee bit of language and more complicated themes. Not exactly a conventional FemShepard.
1. Beast

**Okay, this is my first fanfic, so I'm not expecting too much. This story largely came about as I was trying to sleep then just wouldn't go away. I hope you enjoy!**

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Chapter One: Beast

She is back, and it was almost as if she has never left. She still gives orders with that same barking tone. She still spends hours a day speaking with every person on the crew. She still walks with that same damn sway in her hips. She still smiles without the emotion carried in that twist of the lips ever reaching her eyes.

She is still a bloody bitch.

Garrus Vakarian groans as he slumps against the metal of the ship's hull. What had he done to deserve this? He had spent months, _months_, of watching over her, unable to prevent himself from tracking her every move.

Watch her smile.

Watch her lie.

Watch her manipulate every poor idiot she crossed paths with.

She had shattered his faith in a true, pure hero. She had taken his every foolish hope about humanity, his every dream for a better tomorrow and ground them into the dirt beneath her dainty, well-mannered heel. And the worst part was, no one else seemed to see it. No one realized that her slight smiles and demurely downcast eyes hid the cold, ruthless calculating mind that could care less whether her toys lived or died.

Shepard was toxic. A poison that crept beneath his skin and through his blood, wrapping its skeletal hands around his heart. He had tried to convince himself that he hated her, that he only stayed aboard the turian-human ship that had once seemed so wonderfully prophetic to stop Saren, but he had always been too intelligent to hide behind lies, even those of his own manufacturing. He had loved every piece her. That soft skin, those bright eyes and sinfully curving body. The gentle reassurances and harsh battle-cries as a gloved finger pulled the trigger with fierce determination. The delicate smiles and indestructible lies. Every. Damn. Piece.

Oh, he had known it was stupid, and hypocritical besides. How could hatred and love stem from the same person? He hadn't been able to figure it out, hadn't even tried. Just accepted it, even as fractures began to run through his soul.

When she had died, floated off into the dark, he had finally shattered. She had been the light illuminating his purpose: stop evil, save the galaxy. Then she was gone, and it had all just… finished. No big crescendo, no glorious battle. Everyone simply left, went their own separate ways. Eventually Garrus's wanderings had brought him to Omega, and that was where he had forcefully cemented his heart back together with the tears of victims in need of help and the blood of mercs. He had demanded a purpose from the universe, and there, on that vile little station, he had found it.

Archangel, the human locals called him. He avoided the label until he had gotten his hands on some human lore and discovered its meaning. Archangel. Protectors, fierce warriors of light and all that was good. He liked it then. But suddenly, everything had fallen apart. His men died beneath flickering lights and against grime-streaked walls. But he was still Archangel, protecting the people even as the mercenaries crept towards his nest.

Then she came. Running down the bridge, pistol in hand, the ghost bore a smile as her bullets danced their ways through the spines and skulls of the mercs before her. He fired a concussive shot at her, knowing it wouldn't kill her, but hoping in some back-corner of his mind that it would either prove her to truly be a phantom, or push her off the edge and bring her to a proper death.

It hadn't worked.

He remained focused, keeping his eyes watching through the scope, refusing to turn around even as he heard the soft footsteps creeping up the stairs, behind him…

"Archangel?"

As the name crawled from her twisted mouth, she seized it. Stole it from him. His identity vanished, and he became her creature again. Her beast.

And now he was here, on the false replica of the ship he had loved. Hiding in the main battery, refusing to face the smiles of the crew and the glowing adoration in their eyes as Shepard sauntered past.

He will stay here, he thinks. Pretending to do endless calibrations, just as he had done with the Mako on the SR-1, while lying to everyone else. _Yes, I'm alright, just a little tired. Can this wait? I in the middle of some calibrations._

Yes, he will lie. Lie and watch, lie and watch. Relive the events two years past. Grit teeth through the daily trials that make impending extinction seem benign. Perhaps, he'll even be able to preserve this last shred of Archangel that clings to his ribs in place of a heart. Perhaps, he can watch, wait for the manipulations to end up focused on him. And when that time comes, he'll know the truth. Perhaps he can even save the crew along the way. Perhaps he can free someone before Shepard sinks her talons into them.

Garrus scoffs as he pulls up the orange screens covered with scrolling numbers. As if he ever could manage that. The crew is already falling under her thrall. Jacob's eyes follow her every swaying step and a grudging respect is swiftly growing behind Miranda's eyes. It would be impossible to change that.

He hesitates as he enters in a line of code. The torment of that word swirls around his mind. _Impossible_. His eyes harden with renewed purpose. Impossible, yes, but that doesn't mean he shouldn't at least _try_.

But for now, he'll wait.

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**Thanks for reading! Reviews would be greatly appreciated, since I want to improve more than anything. I have no idea how long the story will end up being, but I'm planning on going through the views of every crew member and possibly a few other NPCs if people seem to like this. Garrus is kinda whiny, but I'm planning on changing that in later chapters. Once again, thanks for reading, please review! Critisism, even if harsh, would be greatly appreciated!**


	2. Smiling

**Well, I'm pleased with the first half of this, but not Garrus's POV. Hopefully you'll enjoy it though. The chapter is a little rushed because I promised myself I would release it today, but Supernatural is on in twenty-minutes, so I've got to rap this up... Enjoy!**

**Oh, and thanks to those that reviewed chapter one. One person brought up OOC-ness, and I kinda agree that that is a bit of a problem, and I apologize for that. However, Shepard can't really be OOC because she's basically whoever you want them to be...**

**Disclaimer: I am too poor to own Bioware or any affiliated characters**

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CHAPTER TWO: DIVINE

The smile feels odd, being the first to grace his features for so very long. He closes his eyes and leans back, breathing past the ominous rattle in his lungs. The warmth still embraces his hands. He allows himself to recall.

_She pauses at the door. Waits for a moment, thinking him asleep in his chair. But he knows that she knows he is not that kind of careless._

_"Thane?" Her voice is soft, questing. He delays his response, delighting in the rarity of her being off balance._

_"Commander." His voice is just as soft. Holds just as much curiosity. He can practically hear her relax behind him. Her soft footsteps approach. She takes the chair opposite of him, flowing onto the seat._

_"How are you... doing?" She is cautious. Worried. Delicate as a summer frost._

_He is touched by this, the concern she inadvertently betrays within the pause between words. He does not allow himself to reveal his silent revelation. "I am well, Shepard."_

_"The air isn't too... um... damp, is it?" She bites the inner right corner of her lip as she scrambles over word-choice. He draws out his response, hoping to provoke some kind of reaction. She unconsciously fidgets. Plays with the worn cuff on her sleeve. However, she keeps her eyes locked on his. Refusing to allow herself the brief weakness of looking down._

_"It is more humid than ideal, but it is doing me well. I thank you." Her returning smile is a gift for his kind honesty. Her lips remind him of falling._

_"Good, I'm glad." She leans back, contented with the knowledge. She glances at him side-long. As if expecting something. The subtle glimmer in her eyes fade as the moments whisper by. She moves to stand._

_His hands are palm-up on the table before he is aware that his body has moved. She settles back down, eyes locked on his smooth hands. She begins to reach out, hesitates, then seems to come to a decision a split moment before her fingers snatch up his. She lets out a slow breath, as if astounded. He wishes to ask why the expression of wonderment is creeping across her cheekbones, but he does not._

_"I want to thank you. For helping me with my son. For letting me see Kolyat again."_

_Her fingers squeeze him in a gesture of human kindness as her eyes cast to the side. Embarrassment. "Really, Thane, it was the least I could do. I... just wanted to make you happy." Again, the odd pressure of fingers._

_"It is not something many would be willing to do for mere crew. For that, I thank you."_

_Spring roses kiss her cheeks as the corner of her mouth twitches upwards with pleasure. "Really, Thane... I was glad to."_

_They stay like that for a moment more. She begins to shift. Nervous. Awkward. "Have you heard from Kolyat?"_

_His thoughts find his son and linger there for a moment. He is doubly precious now. Given to him once by Irika, and again by Shepard. "I have. We have spoken, but the nature of our problems aren't such that they can be laid aside with a few conversations. Reconciliation shall take time." Her hands are surprisingly warm._

_"Oh..." She seems flustered by his short answer. She scrambles to come up with another topic for conversation. She has nothing._

_She slowly, reluctantly releases his hands. Stands. Hesitates once more. "I... I'm just happy that you're doing well." Her words are a muttered mess of tripping syllables and stuttering vowels as she hurries out of the Life Support Room, joy echoing in her steps._

He finds the smile is still painfully twisting his lips as he comes out of his lapse into memory. He thinks of her. Dissects her bizarrely awkward movements. Her gestures. Her actions. He is cast into another memory.

_It comes in a rush. The sound of painful cries cut short. The smell of fire. The entrancing sight of sweat beading an inch up and a breath to the left of her right eye as her broken finger tightens around the trigger of her pistol. Jacob falls, fourteen feet to his left. The enemy is closing in. She glances down at the final package of medi-gel in her good hand. Her eyes dart over to the prone form of the fallen man. "Shit." She whispers. Her grip on the pistol tightens. The opposing forces are but twenty-six feet from Jacob._

_"No!" She cries. She leaps to her feet. Ignores the impossibility of shooting a hand-cannon with a broken hand. She ducks back down. She keeps low, running behind cover. _

_He abandons his perch, but keeps his rifle in hand. He follows her. She pops above cover with him at her side, spraying bullets. Forcing their foe back under cover. A shot that is not one of theirs rings through the turbulent air. Her blood feels as if boiling as it splashes across his face as she falls, left hand clutching a hole in her right shoulder. He kneels beside her shaking form. Worry and fear race through him. His gut clenches in terrified anticipation as she raises her face to meet his eyes. The pain is evident, dancing across her face. She grins._

_"Ouch." And she keeps running towards Jacob._

His mind's-eyes stay upon her. The pain that was so obvious, and the purpose that drove her to ignore it. The grand mission that she currently serves, and the hesitant smile that broke across her face when they saved Kolyat. The power, and the urge to protect. **Siha?** he wonders. **Siha.** The final thought echoes through his mind as a decision.

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Those lips are a confusing. They are a common feature for galaxy races, found on human, asari, drell. But no one can make them twist like Shepard can. They are entrancing, the corners pulled up, the unnaturally blunt tips of her teeth barely visible beneath the curtain of flesh. Garrus traces an imaginary talon around them, her gentle breath warm against his finger tips.

Then he notices the sneer. The expression of disdain sits unnervingly comfortably upon her face. She scoffs as she saunters down the hall, a gentle giggle escaping her as she moves towards the mess hall. Her eyes are fixed firmly on the ground. She hasn't yet realized that he is watching her. He hastily shuffles a few steps back, out of the hall. She turns the corner, running into him, nose bouncing off his chest plate. She swears softly, looks up. A hand grabs his forearm to steady herself. The pressure of her grasp is negligible, but distracting nonetheless. A grin breaks across her face.

"Garrus!" Her laugh echoes with what Garrus assumes is supposed to be delight. She rubs the bridge of her nose and narrows her eyes with accusation. "That really hurt." The teasing in her voice marks her "anger" as friendly.

Something has gone well for her, Garrus realizes as the smug satisfaction hiding behind her pupils refuses to recede. His eyes flit over to the door that she just came out of. Life Support. She's been speaking with Thane, probably making apathetic promises and soft-spoken apologies. Garrus remembers to breathe, remembers that she must not realize his hatred. He forces an answering teasing note into his voice. "Hell, Shepard. You routinely get shot and you complain about bumping your pretty little face? You must be getting soft."

"I _am _soft," she whines, poking her stomach with her free hand. The other still grips his arm. The movement and words invite Garrus's mind to wander, to wonder if she really is as soft as she claims…

His anger roars to life and he barely manages to stomp it down. He _knows_ her game, and he still is falling to her manipulations. Shame follows fast on the heels of fury, dampening his rage. It is only his own fault that he gives in. His own fault that he is so weak to this woman.

Shepard clears her throat. "Well, I haven't had breakfast yet, and I'm _starving. _What about you, Garrus, care to join me?" She raises an eyebrow in invitation.

"Sorry, Shepard. Just ate," he lies. Her only response is a sigh and small smile. Her fingers linger on his arm for a heartbeat longer than it should before she sways away.

He tracks her movements from the corner of his eye. She's in rare form today. He glances back at the door to Life Support, thinks of Thane sitting inside. Garrus had been planning on checking in on him, seeing his views on Shepard, but after seeing the sway in Shepard's hips, he knows there's no point. He jams the command button for the second deck in the elevator more forcefully than intended.

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**Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed. If you liked it, or even hated it, please review! I love feedback and any hints on how I can improve. Ideas are always welcome as well.**


	3. Messages

**Thank you to everyone that has read, reviewed, put on alert, and faved! You guys have given me the confidence to actually continue this! **

**To Vyrazhi, who asked me how my Shepard looks: I didn't describe her so you can picture whoever you want, but since you asked, my Shepard has a very angled face with hiiiiiigh cheekbones, deep red hair, and the bright, celery-green eyes. She has the pale-ish skin tone. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters, yaddiyaddiyadda, except my Shep's personality**

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CHAPTER THREE: MESSAGES

_Today is a good day._ Kelly Chambers is reasonably certain it will continue to be so. The crew is content, the Normandy hums joyfully beneath her feet, and the Serpent Nebula sighs against the side of the ship. Everything is quiet, calm, serene, everything she strives to create as the ship psychologist. It amazes her, how the greatest peace comes when she does nothing. Sure, people may think her position as a yeoman ridiculous and useless, and her position as psychologist just as wasteful and twice as annoying, but she has to focus on the good. You must focus on the best or be overwhelmed by the bad. She senses the contented smile draw at the corner of her lips as she rocks back on her heels, reveling in the near-silence but for the gentle beeps and clicks of the computing systems and the sigh of the lift behind her.

The footsteps that pound out of the elevator shatter the moment of calm. Kelly spins, and is caught off-guard by the storm raging behind the turian's eyes. "Good morning, Garrus!" Kelly grinds a polite, cheery tone from her throat instead of the concern that is pounding at her diaphragm. He mutters something she's too far to hear, and keeps his feet marching to the armory.

Kelly pounds down the urge to follow him into the room of guns and death that she has no part in. Something tells her that her concern would not be appreciated. Garrus is a turian, reserved by nature, and the shape and make of his soul demands solitude. So instead of following like every of her instincts shriek to do, she bites her tongue until her mouth is flooded with the taste of iron, and her smile starts to itch.

Minutes later, the elevator sighs before releasing it's latest passenger. The withering smile upon Kelly's face drinks new life as she places the soft footsteps: Commander Shepard. "No new messages for you, Commander," Kelly hastily announces as Shepard's fingertips reach for the console. There is a marked moment of silence. Kelly notices a contraction of muscle in the palm of the Commander's hand, the slightest narrowing of eyes. A stuttering beside her lungs alerts Kelly to the fear beginning to whisper through her veins. _Why is Shepard angry?_

But when Shepard turns to meet Kelly's nervous gaze, there is no trace of anger marring the skin over her cheekbones, no irritation dancing through the muscles of her face. Instead there is only a smile, and a thanks upon her tongue. Ice stalks down Kelly's spine.

Shepard's footsteps are whispers as she walks up the ramp to the galaxy map. Strange how someone who can wipe out a band of mercs with little more than a heavy pistol can also walk with such hypnotizing beauty and grace. It's almost... predatory.

Shepard has chooses coordinates. Turns to leave. Stops, offers a hand to Kelly. Kelly barely hesitates before laying her fingers against that palm. Kelly smiles with mute satisfaction, her hand feels just as she thought it would: a gentle grasp with a coy kiss of calluses beneath the skin.

"Kelly," Shepard's voice breaks through the fog of thoughts. "Can you believe this?" Shepard's arm sweeps out in an arc, encompassing the stars littered across the map before them. "The whole galaxy is here, condensed into a disc a few metres wide. Some people never even see the light from these stars, but I can be there with a brush of my fingertips." Kelly can feels the burden of the Commander's gaze, tracing the path her fingers dance across the stars. "But no matter how close or far I am from that star, I won't remember it. Sure, I may remember what happens_ near _or_ under _that star, but the star itself... I won't bother to preserve it." The weight falls from Kelly's cheeks as Shepard's gaze falls, eyes captured by the pattern her own fingers play on the guide bar.

A realization hits Kelly, striking her with the force of a punch she'll never feel. "Oh, no. Commander, no one will ever forget you!" This time, she doesn't hesitate when offering comfort. She lays her hand upon the Commander's shoulder, protocol the only thing keeping her from pulling the woman into her arms and holding her until proximity forces her to cry. The slight pressure on her palm as Shepard leans into her touch assures her her instincts weren't wrong. "You've done so much, saved so many, and even if the rest of the galaxy lets the woman behind the deeds fade, you can be assured that the crew will not. We will remember YOU."

Shepard's weary smile is filled with such a profound gratefulness, Kelly's knees quake with the urge to fold. "Thank you, Kelly."

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Garrus leaves the armory calmer than he arrived. He supposes it's good he spoke with Jacob, despite the subject matter. The man trusts him to a degree now, more loyalty than the respect that glowed in his eyes garnered. All in all, a good fifteen minutes spent.

"Good morning, Garrus," Kelly greets again. He cannot suppress the surprised glance that flickers to the yeoman. Kelly never told someone good morning twice, she was too conscious of the crew to forget speaking with/at them. And Kelly never spoke with that distracted tone. Most of the time her voice was dripping with sweet cheer, barely concealing the observing eyes and cutting intelligence, but she was never anything less than perfectly aware.

Garrus is worried.

"Yeoman Chambers." Garrus allows the burst of amusement to flicker across his face when Ms. Chambers jumps and twists to face him at the sound of his voice so close. Beneath the dance of barely-concealed laughter crawls an ugly sense of foreboding. Shepard. "I didn't mean to startle you."

"No, no. It's my fault." Energy floods the yeoman's voice as her eyes brighten with child-like excitment. He knows she's been waiting so long for him to actually speak to her. "The Commander just visited and gave me something to think about."

Concern. That's the emotion needed for this. Garrus attempts to fake it, praying that this human isn't very good at reading turian expressions. "What was wrong?"

Chambers chews on her lower lip, a distracting habit. He can practically imagine the thoughts that fly about her skull.

_Should I tell him?_

_I have a duty to keep secrets._

_But he is Commander Shepard's closest friend._

_He knows her better than I do._

_Do __**I**__ want to let him share what we shared?_

Eventually she relents, describing her exchange with Shepard. The loneliness, the _sorrow _upon the Commander's face when she spoke of being forgotten. The powerful humanity of the moment.

Garrus cannot help himself. The words dash from his mouth before his tongue can trip them. "That's... odd. The Shepard I know wouldn't be concerned with fame. She just cares about saving others, not some memory of herself."

He is rewarded with the flash of doubt that blinks with the yeoman. She too, thought that odd. She is now off-balance, uncertain. More than a little bit confused. And she is by far intelligent to figure out the rest on her own. Silence descends, smothering all. Garrus makes some transparent excuses to leave the awkward silence behind, and Chambers is happy to reciprocate, abandoning Garrus to the attentions of the elevator.

As Garrus makes his way back to the main battery he reviews the day. He now has Jacob's respect. Yeoman Chambers is beginning to doubt Shepard. But that doesn't redeem the day. Thane is still Shepard's. Shepard's still trying her charms on everyone. Garrus's eyes swim with dark confidence as he recites his creed. Keep your mind on the bad and you won't be disappointed.

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**So, that is Chapter three! I'm not too happy with it, but I've been kinda rushed the past week (behind in classes, all my stuff is disorganized, and I got bit by the lazy beast the week before last, so everything's piled up) so the quality isn't quite up there. Suggestions are always appreciated, as is criticism. Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed!**


	4. Ammo

**Thank you to everyone that has read, reviewed, put on alert, and faved! You guys have given me the confidence to actually continue this! **

**Sorry for the delay in updates! I've been busy with school work, playing Dragon Age: Awakening, spring cleaning, managing friendships, and my pants spontaneously combusting. No, seriously.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters, yaddiyaddiyadda, except my Shep's personality.**

**Note: This actually takes place during/before Chapter 3. And this would be better, but spazzed on me and deleted the edited version while I was working on it. This is what was left.**

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CHAPTER FOUR: AMMO

Jacob is tired. He has spent his entire day one his feet. From standing in the shower, from standing in the over crowded mess-hall to busily scarf down some food. Then for the walk through Illium, through the whole damn mission, and now here he is, shifting his painful weight from foot to foot, trying to figure out why the HELL his and Miranda's pistols had jammed. Nothing _appears _to be wrong, but that doesn't change the fact that the damned things won't shoot.

He is seriously contemplating crushing one of the weapons just for some of that illusive satisfaction, when the door whispers open. Jacob looks up, expecting to see Miranda, come to yell at him again, or Shepard to check on her weapons and, he hopes, him. Instead, he sees Garrus. It is unexpected, but not exactly unwanted. It's just that Jacob has never expected to see Garrus seek him out. He obviously doesn't need Jacob's help with weapon matinence, not with how he treats that rifle of his like it's his child. Excitment hits him suddenly. He's never actually spoken to _Garrus Vakarian, _a member of the original Normandy crew. A hero. A man worthy of his admiration.

"Garrus! How can I help you?" Jacob is proud of how he manages to sound nonchalant.

"Just wanted to see what you have in the way of ammo in here. No use shooting standard rounds when I can use something more powerful without penalty."

Jacob sets down the hand cannon, keeping the grin that is beating at the corner of his lips under control. He's a soldier. He may be excited but he can damn well keep himself stoic. "No problem. Walk this way and we'll see what you like." He sets the datapad with the info for all the upgrades on the table, wanders back and leans against the wall.

Jacob every kind of ammo imaginable. Shredder. Icindiary. Warp. Cryo. Armor-Piercing. He is proud of what he has collected. Garrus picks up the data pad and begins reading stats and descriptions, but he seems distracted. Apathetic, even, about his choice of weaponry. Jacob taps his fingers on the crook of his arm, attempting to calm his eagerness. He closes his eyes for a moment, and imagines his fingertips as little valves, slowly turning and releasing the steam building up inside of him. When he opens his eyes, he finds Garrus watching him. Jacob has never pretended to be able to read Turian expressions, but he's reasonably sure that this one means confusion. Maybe even worry.

"Oh, don't mind me. Just thinking."

Garrus's mandibles twitch slightly. Eyes shift to the side. "What about?"

Jacob straightens. Here's his chance to find out something more about the alien. "The mission."

Garrus is too polite to not take the bait. "Care to share?"

Jacob nods. His spine tightens, straightens, responding instinctively to the calm command in the Turian's eyes. "It's just that, we're going against the Collectors. These things have been around for forever, we don't even know where to begin. Chances are, we die before we even reach their base. But even if we do survive, then we still have to prepare for the Reapers. I just don't get how you and the rest of the crew managed to go own after taking down Sovereign, knowing that there was more coming. It would have been so much easier to just take a vacation until the Reapers finally come."

Garrus's talons freeze a half-inch from the surface of the datapad. Jacob imagines he can see every muscle in the Turian's foreign hands contract and release as Garrus contemplates a reply.

Eventually, he settles on a simple "It wasn't easy to chase after Saren, but we all knew that if anyone could get us through that, it was Shepard." The words drop from his mouth like stones, rattling with wary confidence as they strike the floor.

Jacob allows himself a smile, hoping to ease some of the alien's tension. Obviously he is uncertain of where Jacob's loyalties lie. "I agree. She's the only person in this whole galaxy that can save us. Too bad some people don't appreciate that." The words are thicker than he realized they would be, coated with harsh bitterness.

The turian's mandibles twitch. Jacob decides to take it as an invitation to continue.

"Alliance brass saw her leaving Leitenant Alenko behind as an act of idiocy. They reason that because he was higher ranked, Shepard broke protocol by rescuing Williams. They didn't understand that it needed to be done to make the mission work. Alenko was a tech, he had to be there to insure that the bomb detonated. Shepard instead rescued Williams and Kirahe, which had the added benefit of improving relations with the Salarians. I've talked to her about it, seen her psycho-analysis from after Virmire." Jacob shifts his weight with the shift in topic. Military matters are simple, emotional, not so much. "That was the hardest decision she's ever had to make, but she's still whole after that.

**_"I guess it's kinda comforting knowing someone like her is leading us through this."_**

Oh merciful spirits, he's a _soldier_. Garrus winces to himself at the familiarity this human bears. Garrus was like that once, first in the Turian military, later in CSec. Always following orders, never questioning, as willfully blind as those that led him._ Yes, sir. No, sir. How hard should I lick your boots, sir? _Painfully loyal, and willing to die for the unworthy.

Garrus cannot allow this to continue. The urge to yell, to shake the human until the words he spoke rearrange themselves into some semblance of the truth while rattling around in that military-issued skull._ Orders are for the blind. Remaining ignorant is not serving your people._ But he knows that force won't make the man listen. He's too well trained for that. Like some Krogan's prize-fighter varren. Intelligent and strong, but never will bite the hand that feeds it. He has to shake the man's faith seemingly without realizing what he does.

He has to play _her_ game.

"You got her psych reports from Virmire? I thought those were very much classified..." For now, he'll let Jacob have control of the conversation.

The man straightens again, that rod of steel shoved up his spine from so many years of having orders forged into him taking hold. "Cerberus isn't exactly without connections, sir. And after Shepard's "death," the classified stamp on her files meant a hell of a lot less than it did before." His posture slowly relaxes. He's done his duty, protected his master. "So yeah, I got to look at the files. They said she was regretful, heartbroken. She even cried for Lt. Alenko. I saw the vid from that session."

It's all Garrus can do to choke down the scoff that saunters it's knowing way up his throat. Heartbroken. How can a woman with all the emotional capacity of a vorcha be heartbroken? He hammers that little sound down, supressing it with speach. "She cried?" He pumps the doubt into his voice as thickly as he can.

"Yes." Jacob casts his eyes to the floor, trying vainly to conceal the ridiculous infatuation spreading across his expression. But his back stays straight. "The Commander may seem to be a fighting machine, tough enough to brush her teeth with steel-filings and gun-oil, but she's still human. She still has emotion." His eyes search out Garrus's. "She still has emotion."

Garrus knows he isn't a master at decoding human expressions, but he's reasonably certain that this man thinks that this is something that they share, this intimate and "secretive" knowledge of the Commander's soft side. He knows that the next moment can be handled better, but it will have to do.

Garrus sets down the datapad. Walks towards the door. Turns back to Jacob. "I am the Commander's oldest friend, and the Shepard I know doesn't cry." Garrus lingers on the threshold just long enough to see the confusion cross the man's face, then the doubt, before turning around. The seconds tick uncomfortably by as he shifts his weight from foot to foot. The silence presses down, compressing the moment, strangling his tongue.

"I'm sorry." The apology grates on Garrus's nerves. It's painfully, like a knife blade being worked back and forth, back and forth, in that small section of his brain near the base of his skull called "pride." "I'm just... concerned. I guess I just snapped at you. I'm sorry."

It is amusing, how the suprise jumps across the human's face. The last thing the soldier has expected is an apology from an alien, much less an alien that is, for all intents and purposes, his senior officer. Slowly, the astonishment morphs into a much more welcome emotion: respect. Garrus curbs the smugness that threatens to overwhelm him. He must keep calm. Stoic. Be a soldier once more, but this time he chooses his commands.

"Don't worry about it." The human's words contain the smile he refuses to show. He turns back to his weapons, gently nudging the instrument of death into its place. "We're cool. Now, don't you have calibrations to do or something?"

Garrus doesn't bother to supress the lightness of his step as he leaves the armory. He stops as the door opens, half turns back to where the human still examines the gleaming metal. "Nice talking to you. I'll see you around."

Garrus barely hears the man's "yeah" as the door glide shut behind him.

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**I hope you enjoyed. I'm not really proud of this chapter, but I wanted to release sometime this week. I may repost this chapter sometime later this week. Grah! Must be more dedicated to my work! In any case, spred the love, and review, please. Suggestions are always fantastic, as is criticism. **


	5. Necessity

**Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoy! This chapter has been, by far, the most difficult for me, I'm thinking even Legion may be easier to write! But anyways, read and enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I do no own Bioware or any affiliated characters, but if they would like to give me Garrus for Easter, that would be phenomenal. **

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CHAPTER FIVE: NECESSITY

Garrus slides into the corner booth. He stomps down a sneer of distaste; he hates this place. The flickering neon lights, the pounding beat, the cloyingly sweet scent of smoke and asari sweat clawing down his throat. It's the last place he wants to be; the ghosts of far too many memories linger here.

There is the table where Adams slammed back a shot of Krogan liquor and spent the next two hours singing highly questionable versions of human nursery rhymes. The fourth stripper from the left took a serious interest in Sidonis one night. The crew had refused to let hi live that down for the remainder of their lives.

Afterlife holds far too many memories.

Garrus glances down at his gloved talons, realizing that the throbbing purple pulses from a nearby light illuminates them. He draws farther into the shadowed corner, berating himself; melancholy has made him careless. His eyes flicker across the dance floor, searching for the all-too familiar lithe figure carving her way across the dance floor with swaying strides. This may be the VIP room, but the same filth populates it as the room downstairs; this filth just wears better clothes.

A gentle giggle fourteen feet north-north-east from him reminds him now is not the time for introspection. Shepard is out there, seducing an animal she doesn't know is watching already,. Ardat-Yakshi. Yet another attempt to garner the crews' love and respect. This particular manipulation is designed for Samara. He can't halt the wave of sighs that break against the back of his teeth. He had thought a Justicar would be more wary of Shepard; apparently he has been mistaken. But he can't focus on the failure of the asari; he must focus on what he can do.

He allows himself one last moment of selfish, whining self-pity. What was Shepard thinking when she called for him to suit up for this mission? The need to be _subtle_ to catch Morinth, delicate as a Krogan's patience. Why then did Shepard pick the most notorious man on Omega to follow her?

His eyes finally catch on swaying hips and half-lidded eyes. Shepard sways to the music, finding grace in the sterile, generic beats. Darkness beats at the corners of his vision before he finds his breath lodges somewhere just above his lungs. Oh. He's never seen her move like this. Her grace when fighting is undeniable, powerful, exhilarating. But he's never seen her like this. Delicate, ethereal, and vulnerable. _Entrancing_. More feminine by far than the sexually confident sway she normally moves with. Not something Morinth would be fascinated with.

A muttered turian curse as some drunken idiot stumbles into his table saves Garrus from falling head-first into the trap so very subtly laid.

Shepard's seduction was not meant for Morinth alone.

He cannot explain to himself why he ever thought it would be.

The next twelve minutes and forty three seconds are boring. Shepard flirts her way across the club, convinces the bartender to spare a couple gallons of alcohol, and gets into a fist fight with a couple turians. Only after the turians finish their teeth up off the ground do the shadows part and a delicate figure with Samara's face and all of Shepard's duplicity approach the human. They find a little booth, and within a few swift moments the Asari is enraptured. Asari blue winds around Shepard's calloused hand, pulls her from the booth and through the doors.

"Garrus, do you see her?" Samara's voice whispers through the comm, tickling his morals.

The temptation to say no pounds at his temples, strangles his vocal chords. But he cannot be that selfish. He forces himself to accept the realization for the thirtieth time that the galaxy _needs _Shepard. "They just exited through the far right door." Shadows shift against the far wall as Samara follows her daughter, swift as thought and silent as night. Like daughter like mother.

Garrus peels himself off the cheap leather, scuffed by hundreds of sweating and drunken bodies laughing and cursing their way out of the booth. He glides to his feet and ignores the giggles and calls that follow him across the club.

Shepard will not be needed forever.

* * *

Samara is reminded by the unpleasant throbbing in her chest that her pulse can actually accelerate as she races down the twisting corridors of Omega. After so many _centuries_ her daughter is practically within her grasp. _No, not daughter._ A particularly heavy footfall punctuates her reaffirmation. The murderess had ceased to be her daughter when the girl's first mate had died screaming in her naked arms and Morinth had _laughed,_ her shadowed eyes wide as she drank in the child's very essence. Morinth probably doesn't even remember her first mate's name, Goddess knows that Samara doesn't. Samara is barely fast enough to avoid the muttering batarian by a breath. The possibility of collision slaps her out of her revere and purposefully sets her back into the moment, forcing memories of an era gone by from her mind and inducing tranquility. Her purpose is practically fulfilled, and she has only Shepard to thank.

Shepard. The name seems to echo on the lips of everyone she encounters these days. Savoir of the Citadel, the last beacon of hope for a galaxy on the verge of destruction. Beautiful and just, the whispers promised. The unease that had claimed a sizable section of her stomach since coming face to face with the woman retreated under the vehemence of these reassurances. Besides, she had warned Shepard of what she must do if Shepard is unjust, and fear never even kissed the curves of the woman's gently smiling face. That had to mean she was righteous.

Samara's self-awareness mocks her with knowing laughter.

Even as she lurks outside of the lair of her daughter, _prey_, she forces herself to listen to the taunts and knowledgeable murmurs echoing within her soul. As she slips down the tunnels of Omega, she allows Samara to drift away and leave naught but the wise, always impartial Justicar, final embodiment of a long dead Code.

She has become entranced by her friendship with the falsity.

The first of the realizations nearly drives the dancing glow of raw biotic power from her skin. But her meditations are too powerful to be interrupted by something as trivial as shock or the impending death of her child.

Her second realization is that she cannot kill Shepard.

The Code screams and hammers at the base of her skull, blazing with an indignant fire at it's slave's dismissal. _The unjust must be punished,_ every one of The Justicar's instincts hiss, but she shoves them all aside with the calm power of reason. There is a war to fight, and killing your own generals is just as great an injustice as whatever misdeeds that have committed.

The Justicar withdraws, her decision announced and ringing with finality, leaving only Samara the woman. The biotic warrior. The mother. For the first time in slightly under two centuries, Samara regrets her oath it does not forgive nor allow her to feign ignorance. One day justice will be meted out. "Just not today," the empty hallways echo with Samara's shaking voice. Her heartbeat trembles with a profound wish: "And not by me."

A taloned hand curls around her shoulder, the faint musk of turian and gun oil announcing Garrus's presence. She nods once, draws her pistol, and does not permit herself to debate whether she should hope or fear that Garrus heard her. The passion in his eyes can only mean great love or great hatred, and even then the extent of the combination is far too often unknown. Stamping down emotions that may not matter after the next few moments, Samara rushes through the door.

What follows next blurs into one all encompassing moment of _purpose_ and violent denial before biotic energy washes over her as Morinth wraps her in a cocoon of power, similar to the one that spreads from Samara's own fingertips. They both beg Shepard for aid, logic abandoning Samara as a single prick of emotion strikes her heart. She's reasonable certain it may be fear.

The woman's eyes linger on Morinth for a heartbeat too long before flickering to the turian in the corner. Shepard steps forward, laying a hand upon the beast's arm. The weight of the not-lie of Shepard's benevolence suddenly becomes much harder to maintain as she strides towards her trembling not-daughter. The act of violence is over as swiftly as it has begun. An eternity of responsibility falls from Samara's fingertips as she turns back to the Commander, her suit dripping with the remnants of a monster's mind. She cannot bring herself to meet the human's eyes and all of her failures reflected back at her. Instead her eyes seek those of the turian, and there she finds the painful wisdom she does not yet possess.

"I just killed the bravest and smartest of my daughters," the words drop from her lips with her custom serene grace. Shepard says nothing, letting the seeming concern echo in her eyes. Samara sets her shoulders straight, drawing strength and faith in herself, in her conviction, from her daughter's death. The child lived a life of duplicity, and now Samara has ended her. Righted a small bit of wrong in this vast universe.

Shepard would do well to remember this.

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**Thank you for reading! I may have taken a wee bit of creative license with this, most noticeably Shepard's dancing skills. I refuse to acknowledge that the savior of the galaxy can't dance for shit! And the existence of strippers in the VIP room; it isn't just the plebian masses that like to see asari skin. Also, it made more sense to me to have Garrus and Samara in the club for the mission, hiding. If Morinth can be sneaky, then Samara can too; she's got a couple more centuries of being awesome on her daughter. Review/criticize/ suggestions for the series or this chapter are very appreciated! Thank you!**


	6. Pause

_Thank you for reading, as usual! I'm sorry for delays in releases and the shortness of this chapter, but I've been really sick these past few days. As in, I have a pound of candy and it's remained relatively untouched and my Xbox has remained unplayed. But I have managed to drag myself from the pits of virus-induced quasi-death and hammered out a (short) chapter! Huzzah! _

_Angst returns with a vengeance in this chapter. Sorries!_

_Disclaimer: the Easter Bunny brought me no Garrus, so I assume this means I still don't own any part of Bioware. *sigh*_

_**PAUSE**_

_**Garrus is far from happy.**_

_**It's been thirty-seven days, Citadel time, since they put down Samara's daughter. Thirty-seven days since he's set foot off the ship. Shepard has gone on four missions, each time neglecting him in favor of Thane, too busy showering Thane with adoration to even spare him an apologetic glance. Insanity is starting to seem a delightful prospect.**_

_**He slumps against the wall of the main battery, the gentle thrumming of the Normandy pulsing up his bones until the vibrations find sanctuary somewhere near his heart, the steady pulses calming him, banishing the damning concoction of jealousy and resentment from his blood. He must remain still, must try to find that impossibly irritating serenity Thane wears as effortlessly as his leathers that grab every female's (and some male's) undivided attention in his general vicinity and refuse to let go.**_

**A deep breath corrupted with the sterile, metallic tang of the Normandy slaps him back to himself. He is bitter. Bitter and jealous. **_**Jealous! **_**He had thought he was above this, capable of stomping down on his heart and its plaintive cries until it breaks under the weight of his determined heel. But the memory of those laughing eyes and almost forgotten smile refuse to halt their tormenting play upon his racing mind. He has been forgotten, tossed aside.**

**He really shouldn't care; this sulking resentment should not gnaw on the tattered edges of his convictions as it does. The farther he slips towards the abyss of self-loathing and poisonous contemplations of "what it" the tighter he grasps the one thing he is certain of: hatred.**

**Garrus hates many things. He hates the nauseatingly convincing falsity that is known as Commander Shepard. He hates the normalcy of the crew, utterly oblivious to the duality of their Commander. He hates that he can no longer distinguish between the twisted love and the mire of hatred that nags at his breath and confident swagger every time Shepard turns to him.**

**He knows this hatred is fruitless, but what can he do? Should he pretend Shepard has no need for redemption? Should he turn his back on what he's seen, what he **_**knows**_**, and feign adoration when in actuality such a tender emotion has long been stamped out? He could not do that even if he had any wish to; his love for the human has long festered and rotted away, leaving only the husks of impossible wishes and the overwhelming desire to **_**possess.**_

**Garrus is losing himself; the turian soldier is barely a whisper hiding beneath his final rib, the C-Sec officer a sigh at the back of his mind. The commander of a small squad of men that believed in doing the impossible, the power of bullets and words, and simple **_**goodness**_** is beginning to dissolve with every passing heartbeat. Desperation overwhelms him as the tides of hate retreat. He cannot allow that to happen. He has witnessed his father's consumption by bitter anger, twisting the turian so that the man he had once been became unrecognizable. Garrus can only imagine what will happen if he allows hatred to sink it's vicious thorns of control into him, killing everything he had once been as it creeps towards the core of his being…**

**He must remember the beautiful. Music rattling against his carapace as he shares a drink with friends. Shade kissing his eyelids as he lays beneath a tree under the Palavian sun. The smile of a grateful human when he tells her the men who have threatened her with death and much, much worse won't be bothering her again. Simple moments that make the trials worth the taking.**

**His laughter shakes through his chest unexpectedly. This is pathetic! He's sitting here, moping and forcing himself to think "happy thoughts" instead of actually **_**doing**_** something. By the spirits, what would his commander from the turian military say? Executor Pallin? What would his **_**father**_** say? All those years, the attentions of many powerful people spent on him for what? So he could whine and cry about his love life while hiding in the belly of ship?**

**He finds his spine and straightens. Turians have a legacy of action, and he will not risk sacrificing that. Jacob and Kelly have already begun to doubt the human with her traitorous eyes and beguiling smile. Samara understands Shepard's game as well as he does. Garrus has already begun to gather his tools; it is high time he begins to use them.**

**This was supposed to be a lot shorter and more Shep-centric, but I guess my writing spirit has a mind of its own… Sorry if this is kind of repetitive of the first chapter, but in my mind it fits; Garrus seems the kind of guy that would over analyze everything if he has the time until he risks driving himself crazy… Anyways, I hope you enjoyed! R&R, s'il vous plaît.**


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